Almost Pleasant
by ifithasapulse
Summary: Jason Todd is back in Gotham. Will he lose everything to the madness that once ran his life or get his family back?
1. Breaking In

The dark figure slips into the building, becoming one with the darkness at times and nothing more than a shadow at others. He wears the darkness like a velvet cloak; rich and pure. It suits him, a perfect match. He knows it. And uses it to its maximum potential.

It was what he did; using things for everything they were worth. Otherwise, what was the point? He knew hardly anyone, if anyone at all, agreed with him, but this too was something he had realized and accepted a long time ago. He was used to seeing things differently.

It hadn't taken him long to figure out, however, that if anything was used to its full potential, it would break. Sometimes things were just too weak. Sometimes _people _were just too weak. He knew better than anyone exactly how weak a person could be.

He tries to push the thoughts out of his mind, but they linger persistently, taunting him. He lets out a nearly silent snarl that curls his lips into a terrifying grimace. The memories and thoughts pound against the back of his mind, almost a physical throb. _If this gets me caught_, he thinks irritably, _there will be hell to pay._

Instantly the thoughts and recollections vanish, as completely as smoke vanishes into air and as quickly as water swirling down the drain. His focus is absolute, concentration ferocious in its intensity. He smirks, pleased with his control, and continues along his journey.

He glides along the corridor, allowing himself to both relax into the familiarity of stealthy traveling and tense in preparation for what was about to happen. He narrows his eyes against a stream of dust collapsing from the top of a shelf as he passes by soundlessly. His feet fall silently and his body is tense, every muscle taut in adrenaline and anticipation.

He has hijacked the security system, fed the cameras a continuous loop, and jammed the alarms. The only things left are the guards themselves and opening the cell. His breathing constricts in what he refuses to believe was fear. He's come this far, hasn't he? He has waited for this for so so long…

He treads carefully and after slicking two pads off adhesive tape onto both palms, hoists himself into the ventilation system. While he doesn't have any qualms about killing, the thought of ending the lives of the guards defending the city he once swore to protect leaves a bad taste in his mouth. It would be different from killing random crack heads or petty crooks. That didn't even qualify as killing, the way he sees it. But if he kills the guards…he sighs in annoyance then makes up his mind. He'll just knock out the guards. _Bruce would be so proud of me,_ he thinks sarcastically, and his fingers tighten their grip on the crowbar clenched in his fist.

He kicks the vent cover down and it collapses, clattering to the ground not three feet away from the nearest guard. _Perfect. _He swings himself down from the vent, bringing his feet to kick the guard squarely in the chest. The guard staggers, sputtering. Quickly, he kneels forward and presses his thumb into a nerve cluster at the base of the guard's neck. The guard slides to ground, motionless.

He proceeds the same way throughout the prison, not stopping until he is sure of absolute privacy. Then, once he has checked, double-checked, and triple-checked his list to make sure he hasn't forgotten something, he creeps down the hall to the maximum security ward.

He leans down to heave one guard's arm up toward the glass panel, pressing the first three fingers of his left hand onto the gel scanner. The light blinks red, then green.

He is in.

As soon as he has stepped foot into the ward, he hears the pounding of fists against glass. Six inches of bulletproof, fireproof, secured glass, that is. From all sides of the ward, there are criminals shaking their fists at him, kicking at their doors, begging him to take them with him when he left, demanding to be let out.

He ignores them all.

He passes by Poison Ivy first, her heart shaped face contorted with rage as she shouts at him to take her with him, soundless through the glass yet obvious from her wild gesticulating. He walks by, treating them all the same; as though oblivious to their yells and pleading.

Finally, he reaches the one cell he has been waiting for, plotting about, planning for. He pauses for one terrible, heart stopping moment.

Then he sees the cell's inhabitant's blood red lips move.

"I was wondering when you would arrive," the green haired _thing _mouths at him.

"You can stop wondering," he replies.

With slightly trembling fingers, he selectes a gel pad similar to the one at the glass panel from his bag and slides the cover onto his shaking finger. _Inhale. Exhale. _

It was what he used to calm himself. He employed it sometimes when comforting himself, or in telling himself that something would pass soon, would be over soon.

He had used it when Joker had beaten him.

He brings his finger down onto the scanner by the cell door hard, not noticing the throbbing in his finger as he lifts it. The door slides open and a hunched over figure steps out.

"I hadn't expected you, of all people, to-"

He had used it when the Joker had tortured him.

And then it _had_ been over. It had been over all too soon.

Jason smashes the crowbar over Joker's head, watching in satisfaction as the clown slumped to the ground, blood trickling from his forehead and into his green hairline.

_Inhale. Exhale._


	2. Breaking Bones

Joker spits out a mouthful of blood. His chest heaving, he gives a shuddering cackle of mad laughter.

"How much longer do you think you can keep it up, kid?"

"Long enough."

Jason's words are sparing, choosing instead to direct his energy into beating the living hell out of the monster at his feet.

Snarling, he crushes his foot onto Joker's throat, holding it there for ten torturous seconds before slamming the heel of his foot into his side, sending him into the peeling wall. Even at the sound of his sharp, pain filled gasp, he doesn't hesitate before stabbing the crowbar into Joker's side in a vicious sweep, snapping a rib. Joker inhales sharply and the sound is filled with so much agony, it almost makes Jason smile.

"Had enough yet?"

"I-" wheeze "-underestimated-" cough "-you."

Jason's hand shoots forward and he yanks on Joker's hair, bringing him closer. "Why's that?"

"Trained by Batman. Who would've known you turned out the way you did?"

His lips curve into a sick twisted grin and he gives a weak chuckle, howling at the pain that it takes to muster up a laugh as he does so. Jason drops him in disgust and turns away, careful to step on his fingers.

There was a short silence before Joker speaks again in a broken voice. "Are you going to kill me?"

"Piss me off enough and maybe I will."

"Haven't I done enough already?"

Jason reels around and shoves Joker's broken body up against a wall, looking him in the eye as he digs his fingers into either side of his neck. "More than enough."

He drops Joker's body in a crumpled heap again. Then, without warning, Jason rams the crowbar into Joker's jaw with all the force in his hand and at the sharp snapping sound, grins mercilessly. Broken jaw. He knows how _that _feels.

Taking a second to massage his wrist which he might very well have sprained with the force of his blows, he crashes the crowbar onto what he believes is one of three broken ribs and by the Joker's explosive screams, punctures a lung.

He knows how that feels too.

He knows how it feels to be broken, to be beaten to the point of death, and even then, refusing to believe that Batman won't save him until the very last second. Batman, who had found him and raised him. Batman, whom he had loved and thought had loved him. For the first time in his life, he had thought he had love and someone who cared for him. Ironic, how he felt safest when he was running around in twenty degree weather in tights, dodging bullets along rooftops, performing Olympic-level gymnastics and martial arts maneuvers to arrest pimps and drug dealers.

Even while Joker had beaten him, Jason had held onto the belief that Batman would bust down the door and save him and everything would be alright again. Even once Joker had placed the bomb, right up to the second that he saw the timer read 00:00, he still believed with all of his soul that Batman would somehow save him.

But he hadn't. And _even that, _Jason could forgive. He wasn't even angry that Batman hadn't saved him. No, what he could barely believe was that even when he was _dead, _Joker was still alive.

Why?

The one man who had ever given a damn about him had turned out not to. It was too much on top of coming back to _life. _It was too much. But no matter. He can do this himself.

_Inhale._

_Exhale._

"You told me once," Jason hisses into Joker's ear, "that it only hurts when you laugh. _Why aren't you laughing_?"

"Kid," Joker croaks weakly. "You're a goddamned _riot_."

Jason hurls him away, flinging him into a wall and watching as he crashes onto the ground. He knows exactly how many injuries he has caused at this point to Joker. One broken jaw, three broken ribs, a broken arm, three torn ligament, one punctured lung, a broken nose, and a shattered collarbone.

He isn't done by long shot.

Not until Joker can't muster up a single _ha_.

As if on cue, he starts cackling, a laugh that starts off quiet and low and builds up into an echoing roar.

"Enough. If you can't stop laughing," Jason crouches beside Joker and speaks directly into his ear, "I'll cut out your tongue."

The insane laughter continues.

"Fine. I'm going to enjoy this anyway."

"It'll be interesting to see whether or not you've actually got the guts to do what Batman never could."

Jason pauses. "I think I've already proved that."

"How long is this going to keep up," the Joker wheezes. "It's been what? A week?"

"Four days." Jason kneels beside him. "Time goes by faster when you're being tortured, doesn't it?"

Without waiting for an answer, he takes the Joker's chin his hand and wrenches his mouth open.

The sound that Joker makes at the handling of his broken jaw is inhuman. _How fitting_, Jason thinks fleetingly.

"No!"

Both of them whip their heads around, Jason staring, eyes narrowed, at the cracked dirty window into the night.

"Oh, hell," he murmurs. He steps back hurriedly, not bothering to move Joker and shields his face with his arms in preparation for what he knows is about to happen.

As he expects, the window shatters in an ear splitting crash as Nightwing in all his glory sails in.

"I swear, if you ever once used a door, I never saw it," Jason grumbles irritably.

"You can't," Nightwing said.

"Oh, can't I?"

"Look-"

"Try to stop me. _Just you try._"

"I don't want to do this."

"Well, in that case, enjoy the show," Jason replies, turning back to Joker, knife in hand.

"Stop!"

Looking slightly desperate, Nightwing slowly unsheathes his Eskrima sticks and adjusts his grip on them.

"Let's get this over with," Jason says.

They both assume fighting stances, Nightwing looking regretful all the while.

_Inhale. _

_Exhale._


	3. Break a Leg

Jason looks like hell. He's torn off his mask and flung it into a corner of the filthy room and his face is streaked with sweat and blood. He has a tortured look in his eyes, as though instead of beating the Joker, he feels like he's back on that floor, being beaten. He does not look like a man Dick wants to fight.

He'll bet that Jason doesn't feel like a man Dick wants to fight, either.

They've always had their differences. Huge ones, little ones, problems, arguments, fights. Seeing him like this makes it seem very far away all of a sudden. He wants to help him but he knows that Jason will only reject it. Dick's only hope is trying to explain to Jason that killing Joker or beating him or whatever he is intending to do, won't make him feel whole. It won't heal him.

"How is this helping?"

"It already has," Jason answers.

"When you kill him, what then?"

Jason pauses for a second. "So secure you won't win?"

"I know you. If you want to kill him, you will find a way, no matter how many times I try to stop you."

"Why are you here, anyway?"

"I'm visiting."

"That's sweet. Are you done talking or what?"

Nightwing heaves a sigh. "I'm done."

Joker cackles louder. "Break a leg, kiddos."

"I've already broken yours, so what the hell, why not?"

"Exactly how much _did_ you break?"

"I'm not quite sure but I'm guessing one broken jaw, three torn ligaments, one punctured lung, three broken ribs, a broken nose, a broken arm, and a shattered collarbone."

Nightwing swears roundly. "How could you-"

"I did no more, if even the same, than what he did to me," Jason cuts him off sharply. "I just extended it more."

"By how much?"

"Well, I've had him here for four days. And didn't you say we were done talking?"

Without waiting for an answer, Jason lunges at Nightwing, ducking under his right hook, and slamming his fist into his side. With a hiss of pain, Nightwing swings out his leg and catches Jason around the ankle, pulling him closer and unbalancing him, and then catching him in the jaw with a right jab and a kick to the gut.

Jason retaliates with a swift elbow fake jab to the face then roundhouse kicking Nightwing in the chest, causing him to stumble back a few paces, his feet skidding along the wood floor. Nightwing takes a swipe over Jason's head with one his sticks, the end crackling, which Jason ducks then stabs him in the chest with his other stick.

Jason jolts, reeling backward then slamming his foot into Nightwing's jaw, snapping his head to the side. As he twists in the air, turning sideways for the three seconds of landing from the flying kick, Nightwing's hand shoots out and wraps around his ankle, dragging him down.

Quickly twisting his body so that his shoulder catches the momentum of the fall rather than his head or neck, Jason spins, playing on Nightwing's hold on his ankle, and kicks him with his opposite foot, using Nightwing's body as a kickoff board.

Nightwing staggers back then, ducking Jason's fist, kicks him once at the thigh then punches him low in the gut. Jason falls, then spinning quickly onto his left side, swipes Nightwing around the ankle with his top leg, tugging him closer, and then sending him flying back with his bottom leg.

Jason reaches up and launches himself onto Nightwing, his arm easily deflecting the side of the Eskrima sticks and shoving him to the ground. Pulling out the knife that was just about to cut out Joker's tongue and possibly more, he forced Nightwing's head to the side, gripping his jaw.

"When this is over," Nightwing spoke suddenly, his voice a hoarse murmur, "Jason, what will you do next?"

Jason was surprised into delaying his movements for a second. Taking advantage of his shock, Nightwing slams Jason hard in the jaw, sending him flying backward.

He twists, trying to anticipate Nightwing's next attack, furious with himself for pausing, when out of the corner of his eye, he spots Joker crawling towards a corner of the room. His eye follows the line of vision from Joker's perspective, just as he was taught, and his heart clenches as he sees Joker's fingers close weakly around the crowbar he had carelessly dropped aside.

"No!"

Jason lunges across the room, forgetting all about Nightwing. He knocks the crowbar from Joker's grip, his heart thudding madly, his ears roaring. He knows that Joker isn't strong enough to do anything, that he couldn't even pick it up most likely, but his vision is tinted red and he knows, _he knows_, that if Joker picks up that crowbar, terrible things will happen.

He's standing over him, crowbar clutched in his hands, eyes wide but not seeing. He's frozen, locked into a torrent of memories that crash into him like ocean currents.

He feels someone's hand on his shoulder. Dick.

"It's fine. Just-"

"Don't touch me."

The words are as harsh as they are desperate. The seconds tick past. Dick drops his hand.

After a few minutes, Jason becomes vaguely aware of Dick moving around him. He blinks and the world slowly comes back into focus.

Swiveling around, he sees that Dick has tied Joker up against a chair, his head lolling pathetically to one side, his face a mess of blood and his body a jumble of black, blue and purple, with the odd broken bone or two jutting into his skin.

Jason looks back at Dick. "Let's get out of here."

They walk to the broken window, dropping down the six feet like it was six inches, and rolling onto the ground. They don't speak to each other as they continue their way down the street.

The day has almost begun, night retreating back into its shelter and the sun shooting colors into the sky. The moon is faintly visible, a mere outline in the upcoming day.

"Where will you go?"

Jason shrugs. "I don't really have a place."

"You could come back with me."

"To the manor?" Jason snorts. "I'm sure they would be delighted to see me. Especially like this and after…everything…"

His voice trails off and he swallows, looking away, at a lamp post, a mailbox. Anything but Dick.

"They would be happy to see you. They miss you, Jason."

"How do _you _know?"

Jason stares obstinately at a patch of dead grass on someone's lawn, still refusing to make eye contact. Dick's exasperated voice cuts through his self-pity.

"For chrissake, Jason! They will always take you back. You're family."

"Do you actually believe that?" Jason demands, wheeling around suddenly to look him in the eye. "When you look at me, is the first thing that you think 'brother'?"

There's a short pause. "Yes."

"You're a liar."

"Why, because you don't think brother when you look at me?"

"I think Bruce Wayne's son," Jason spits.

"Do you not consider yourself his son?"

"A father cares for his son. A father loves his son. A father would _avenge _his son!"

"Don't you think he wanted to?"

"If he wanted it enough, he would have."

"You want to know why he didn't?" Dick stops walking and turns to face him, eye to eye. They're within half an inch of the other's height, the same build, similar features despite the fact that they are not brothers by blood. "You want to know why he didn't avenge you the way you wish he had?"

Jason doesn't speak.

"What was the first thing he taught you? What is the first thing you remember him teaching you?"

"How to roll with punches," Jason answers flatly.

Dick makes a sound of exasperation. "He taught you to control your anger and that justice wasn't revenge. Don't you remember that?"

"So what?" Jason shoots back sullenly.

"He taught you to fight crime and bring people to justice."

"What's your point?"

"So the one person he tried to drill that into the most, was the one person he would break that rule for?"

"Why the hell not?"

"Jason, you were what he considered his greatest mistake. He would never have even considered dishonoring your memory by messing your last moments up by killing Joker. It was what he had taught you were wrong all along."

"How could avenging me have been such a huge dishonor?"

"He thought that if he avenged you by killing Joker, it would have been turning into a hypocrite. That your last moments would have been turning him into a hypocrite. Don't you understand?"

"Bruce already is a hypocrite." Jason scowls at a mess of weeds as the two wait for a car to pass, the driver gawking at them. Jason briefly considers flipping him off but decided against it. He's too tired to pick a fight.

"People in glass houses shouldn't throw stones," Dick replies.

Jason smiles. It's a tight, thin lipped smile but a genuine one all the same. Dick considers it a score.

"Do you need clean clothes?"

Jason arches his brow. "What do you think?"

"I meant do you have a set of spare clothes?"

"Not really," Jason mutters.

"You can borrow some of mine."

"No," Jason says sharply. "Absolutely not."

"You can borrow some of mine," repeats Dick forcefully. "Actually, you can keep them. I doubt I'll want them back."

Jason suppresses a small smile. "Fine. But I'm not going in there."

"I guess you'll just have to shower in a hotel then," Dick responds, walking up to the gate. He turns and grins at Jason. "It's your loss. We still have the hugest showers of anyone I have ever met."

Over his shoulder he calls back, "I'll drop off your clothes at your hotel. I'll send one of the drivers."

Jason stares at his retreating back warily. It was almost pleasant talking to his brother again. But there was still the Joker to contend with and…everything.

Jason sighs, running a hand through his matted and bloodied hair. He really did need to shower.


	4. Breaking Out

Jason walks out of the hotel shower, letting the steam billow out. Running his hand through his hair, he tousles it slightly, trying to dry it but giving up quickly. He pulls on the clothes left for him by the driver and quickly lacing up his sneakers, turns and comes face to face with Dick.

"Jesus," he says sharply, startled but trying to hide it. "When did you get here?"

"About ten seconds ago," replies Dick, grinning at the surprise still etched onto his brother's face. In one day, he had managed to hold a conversation with his brother, stopped him from cutting out someone's tongue, made him smile, and surprised him. All before ten. Quite a good way to start a day, if he did say so himself.

At the suspicious look on his brother's face, Dick's smile widens. "How long did you think I was here?"

"Long enough."

"Long enough to see you shower? What kind of pervert do you think I am?"

"I refuse to go into that territory with you,"' says Jason, face perfectly deadpan. "What are you doing here?"

"I thought if you didn't have any plans for today, you'd like to spend the day with me," responds Dick casually. He crosses his fingers in his jacket pocket.

Jason stares at him with an unreadable expression. "You want to spend the day with me," repeats Jason slowly.

"Sure, why not?"

"I don't know. There's still the Joker and-"

"Oh, come on, Jason. What are you going to do when you get back there? Go into shock again?"

The words are out of his mouth before he can stop them. Instantly, Dick's eyes widen in regret and he closes his mouth, wishing he could swallow his tongue. "Jason-"

"No, don't." Jason is staring at him again but this time it's less like he can see him and more like he's thinking intensely about something far, far away.

"I'm sorry."

There's silence.

"That's the first time you've ever said that to me." Jason's eyes are wide as well. He looks unsteady as if he isn't sure whether or not to trust Dick.

"I'm sorry," Dick repeats truthfully.

Jason looks him in the eye and Dick nearly flinches at the turmoil behind them, hidden almost completely by his brother's icy composure.

"It's fine." Jason speaks finally and Dick breathes out, unaware that he had been holding his breath.

"So, you want to go somewhere?"

_Breakthrough. _Dick is almost alarmed by how pleased he is at Jason's offer. It's obvious he's already too involved now to turn back. "Yeah. You want to get a coffee or something?"

"Why did you decide to visit?" Jason asks, taking a sip from his coffee.

Jason isn't quite sure what to make of this. He's having coffee with his brother. He's having coffee with Dick. He's having coffee with Dick after fighting him and actually holding a conversation with him. It's…pleasant, almost.

He's wearing his brother's _clothes_, for chrissake.

It's just too weird.

But at the same time, it's also really nice. It's peaceful and enjoyable. How…odd.

"Well, I wanted to see how everything was doing, what with you being back and everything."

Jason nods. "Do you ever miss being Robin," he blurts out suddenly.

Dick looks taken aback for a second. "A little," he admits. "But that's just not who I am anymore. I'm Nightwing. And I'm still part of the family. It's nice having my own place in Bludhaven. My own place, my own patrol. I like it. I love it, actually."

Then, leaning forward, he asked, "Do you?"

"Do I what?"

Jason smirks at the look of annoyance on his brother's face. He hadn't realized how much he missed teasing Dick.

"Do you ever miss being Robin?"

The question wipes the smirk off his face. "No," he answers. "I miss that part of my life, I guess. But I don't miss being Robin. Now I'm someone else. And I like it."

"They miss you," Dick says suddenly.

Jason sighs. "I don't want to talk about this."

"They really do, Jason."

"Dick-"

"Barbara's birthday is in three months," Dick tosses out. "I'll be there. Bruce will be there. Alfred will be there. Will you?"

Barbara. Jason hasn't really thought of her. They hadn't seen each other much, even when he was Robin. Still, on the occasions he had seen her, she had always been sweet to him and funny. She had always had a smile for him. And Alfred…Jason grins at the thought of the butler. Alfred was tougher than Bruce any day of the week.

"So will you come?"

"Have you always been this pushy?" Jason asks, stalling for time. "As your brother, I feel inclined to tell you that it isn't entirely appealing."

"Well?"

Jason sighs, looking down at the table. Finally, he looks up and says grudgingly, "Fine. Maybe I'll come. _Maybe._"

"Good." Dick leans back, looking for the entire world as smug as though Jason had just agreed. Jason feels the need to hit him and instead drinks the rest of his coffee, scalding his throat as he swallows.

They spend the rest of the day around the city, talking and laughing and recollecting. Jason can't remember the last time he had so much fun, though of course he doesn't tell Dick that. No need to make his ego more swollen than it already is.

By the time they're done talking, the sun has set and a companionable silence settles between them. Jason remembers with a start that the Joker is still the apartment. If he got away somehow…

"What's wrong," Dick demands, seeing his brother's sudden pallor. Then, correctly reading Jason's stony expression, he says, "Okay, if you need help with the Joker, I can be reached at this number." He scrawls his cell phone number onto a notepad and tearing off the little sheet, he thrusts at Jason.

Jason takes the paper and roughly shoves it into his jacket pocket, sprinting along the streets, trying to reach the apartment. He refuses to accept that Joker managed to escape with the injuries he himself had inflicted. He refuses to even consider it.

He skids to a halt at the door of the apartment and after a split second's internal debate, takes a few steps back and centers his weight, balancing himself before crouching down and leaping up to the window ledge of the floor above the ground level. Clenching his teeth, Jason pushes off from the wall, fingers reaching up to grip the ledge above.

As irritating as it is, it's still much faster than taking the stairs, which are littered with pieces of random furniture and shards of broken glass. Dick had the right idea coming through the window, Jason thinks as he hauls himself through said window.

Taking a deep breath and saying a quick prayer to a god that he's sure gave up on him long, long ago, Jason takes a survey of the room.

It's empty.

Jason travels to the corner of the room and picks up his eye mask, turning it over in his hands as he thinks.

He can't have gone far with those injuries.

And never far enough.


	5. Brake!

Brake!

_Inhale._

_Exhale._

"Dick," Jason mutters, raking his hand through his already tousled hair. _Should he call him?_

He really, really doesn't want to call him for his help. He has, after all, just made peace with him. Sort of. More than he ever has before, anyway.

His pride would take a beating. But he cares less about his pride than he does about catching Joker again. God, he never thought he'd ever think that about his ego.

Making up his mind, Jason hurried down the stairs. Maybe he passed out or is already dead, falling down the stairs in his attempt to escape.

The stairs are empty of the clown's sickening presence.

Jason hurries outside, the wind whipping at him. He makes a deal with himself as he runs around the block, becoming more frenzied as he realizes that the Joker isn't anywhere he's checked. If he can't find the Joker in half an hour, then he'll call Dick. The search extends to a two blocks, then three, then four.

Then five blocks.

No sign of him.

Jason collapses onto a bench by a bus stop, his chest rising and falling rapidly. He does some rapid calculations in his head. He's searched five blocks. If the length of a block is a fifth of a mile and he's searched twenty lengths of a block, he's just sprinted four miles. There is no way the Joker got that far without help. He knows for sure that he couldn't be hiding somewhere in a house. No one would take him in, especially with him so injured.

Then, of course, there's also the fact that he couldn't have just hid in a trash can or behind some crates because he searched those too. How did he get away then?

With a defeated groan, Jason pulls out his cell, dreading the conversation about to take place.

"Hello?"

"He's gone," Jason says simply. "I've looked behind crates, garbage cans, I've checked parked and moving cars on my way-"

"Where have you searched?"

"I've looked from Davidson, to Ford's, to that Ben & Jerry's over on Fourth."

"That's…you ran four miles?"

"It wasn't too bad," Jason says casually. "I could have done six, maybe six and a half."

"You are so stupid, Jason," hisses Dick. "You're going to be completely exhausted and absolutely no good on this hunt. You waited so long. It's already eight. We might not find him now. It's too dark. Why didn't you call when you found him missing?"

"Are you going to yell at me or get your ass over here?"

"Where are you?"

"At the Starbuck's with the rusted door."

"I'll be there in ten minutes."

"Ten minutes? Are you stopping to buy flowers? Be here in five at the most."

"The only way I can do that is by breaking every traffic law in this city," Dick says incredulously.

"Be here in five," Jason repeats before hanging up.

The second the call disconnects, Jason leaps from the bench and heads toward the storage garage conveniently located about three steps away. Sneaking in is easy; so is getting his motorcycle out. He quickly locates the key he hid months ago and uses it to open the lock on his motorcycle. He checks his watch. Two minutes till Dick gets here.

Starting up the engine is a quiet business, seeing as he's never been one to take out the muffler of his bike to make it roar. Managing to get his bike out before Dick's will be complicated, however. The garage is positioned so that if he had to exit on his motorcycle, he would have to either get on the sidewalk or get on the street going the wrong way.

When choosing between two evils, pick the one you never tried before.

In Jason's case, it would have to be the one he had tried _less_, since he had done both, so he prepares to go on the sidewalk.

There aren't many people on the sidewalk since it was so late, maybe four or five, so he shoots forward.

They leap back in surprise, dropping papers and cups of coffee, much to his surprise. _Who drinks coffee at eight at night?_ It wasn't as though they needed to fight crime into the wee hours of the morning the way _some people _had to.

Jason waits until he is back at the Starbuck's then calmly parks the motorcycle and turns it to face the right way just as Dick, dressed as Nightwing, pulls up on his motorcycle.

"You took long enough," grumbles Jason as though he had been waiting the whole time.

"I timed myself," Dick says, pulling a stopwatch out of his pocket. "Seven minutes, twenty one seconds."

"Good boy," deadpans Jason. He takes a look at all the people around them, completely ignoring the two vigilantes on motorcycles. It was almost sad how desensitized Gotham's citizens had become when it came to oddly dressed individuals fighting criminals. It didn't even turn heads anymore.

"Put a mask on," Nightwing says irritably. "Come on, we have a clown to catch."

The next two hours are a combination of search the city and race your brother on a motorcycle. As satisfying as it is to beat Dick, Jason can't stop the growing worry spreading through him. Where the hell is he?

After another hour of searching, it's almost eleven and they have to give in. Even with the lamp posts and lights, it would be a waste of time to try to get anywhere.

"I'm sorry, Jason," Nightwing says, nudging his bike a little ahead. "I think he's-"

"No, stop!"

"What?"

"LOOK!"

Nightwing glances down and his heart almost drops to his knees. He cannot believe what he is seeing. He cannot believe it.

"For chrissake, get your motorcycle off!"

"It's called the Nightbird, for your information."

"I don't care what it is called- did you say Nightbird?"

"Yes, I did."

"You named your motorcycle Nightbird? Could you possibly have come up with a more generic name?"

"Well, what did you name yours?"

"I didn't name my motorcycle. Who the hell names their motorcycle?"

Changing the subject, Nightwing gestures to the green haired lump under his motorcycle. "You know what; I'm just going to move this motorcycle."

"Good idea."

Once he has done so, Jason stares at the broken mess on the ground. "Do you think he's dead?"

"I have no idea. We should call an ambulance."

"For that piece of garbage? No. I say if he's dead, leave him for the crows, and if he's not, let him die and then leave him for the crows."

"Jason. You're better than that."

"No, not really."

"Jason, come on. We can't let him die."

"You're the one who ran him over!"

"He was already on the ground. Besides, you're the one who beat him with a crowbar!"

"I hate to say this, but he started it!"

"You sound like a six year old, pouting over a playground squabble!"

"You sound like a forty five year old soccer mom telling the kids to play nice!"

Dick suddenly lets out an exasperated growl. "Will you listen to yourself? This isn't how we do things!"

"No, this isn't how you and Bruce do things," Jason says quietly. "I won't kill him. But I won't save him either. If he dies, he dies and we'll all be better for it."

Dick watches him get back on his motorcycle and speed away.

"Dammit!"

At the sound of someone pounding on the door to his hotel room, Jason heaves himself out of bed and staggers to the door, wrenching it open and opening his mouth to give the person there the burn of a lifetime.

And then he closes his mouth.

Because standing at the door is someone he hadn't expected to see. "Dick, you bastard."

"Good morning to you too, Jason," is Dick's crisp reply. "You look like hell."

Slightly dumbfounded, Jason watches Dick step into his hotel room like he paid for it himself and take a seat on the sofa. Then his brain kicks in. "What are you doing here? Get out of my room!"

Looking bored, Dick arches a brow at Jason and says, "Jason, if you want me to take you seriously, put some street clothes on."

"There is nothing wrong with black silk pajamas," Jason informs him icily, snatching the TV remote out of his hand and flinging it over his shoulder. It shatters a glass vase but neither of them break eye contact.

"They have Mickey Mouse silkscreened onto them," Dick says, tongue tucked firmly in cheek.

"I'm aware."

"It's a good look."

Jason glares at him, crossing his arms over his chest. "You have exactly fifteen seconds before I eject you forcefully from this room. Out the window, not the door, I might add. Since you like crashing through windows so much."

Dick glares at him. "You did it too when you were Robin."

"You still do it and you're Nightwing now," Jason quips. He runs a hand through his sleep tousled hair and yawns. "Twelve seconds, by the way."

"Look, I know you've been pissed because I called an ambulance. But you have to understand why I did it."

Jason's eyes narrow and he grinds out, "Ten seconds."

"If I killed him, or left him to die which is basically the same thing, then I'm no better than him. I'm the same."

"You never beat a kid with a crowbar then blew him up," Jason spits out forcefully.

"It doesn't matter. If I kill, I'm the same. I have no right to kill."

"Five seconds."

Dick gets up slowly from the couch looking regretful. "I wanted to remind you about Babs' party, Jason. I'm still here for another two weeks and I'll be back for the party. You should come. We all miss you."

He leaves, closing the door behind him. Jason gets up and sighs, pressing his forehead against the cool glass of the window he had just threatened Dick with.

_We all miss you._

_Inhale._

_Exhale._

_We all miss you._


	6. Breakeven

He should go.

The thought keeps trying to force his feet to move. _He should go._ He shouldn't bother them. It's been a week since Dick's most recent visit and a week and a half since Joker was run over by Dick's bike. A smile curves Jason's lips_. Dick ran him over._ It's almost funny.

Almost.

The Joker is still in recovery and will be for about another eighteen months. He's expected to make a full recovery.

Jason lingers at the gate of the Manor, debating whether or not to ring. What if Dick wasn't actually serious when he said that they missed him? Does Barbara even really know who he is? What if she doesn't care? What if Bruce opens the door? What'll he say? Will he be mad to see him? Does he know what Dick did? Did Dick tell him? Did Dick tell any of them? Is Dick in there right now? What if Dick opens the door? What would he do? Punch him? Hug him? What if Alfred opens the door? Will he be disappointed in him or glad to see him return?

The thoughts turn themselves over and over in his mind, torturing him. Suddenly, a voice pierces his thoughts.

"You can come in, you know."

He's so startled that he jumps, eyes wide, turning to see who's at the door.

It's Dick.

Jason breaths in an inaudible sigh of relief to see him at the door. "How-How are you?"

"Fine. Did you come by to say hello?"

"I-I don't know why I'm here. I wanted to see Bruce. I mean, I wanted to see Alfred. I wanted to see Barbara, too. I kind of wanted to see how everything was going along. I sort of miss being here. I mean, I-"

"Jason, shut up and get in."

For once, he does as he is told.

Jason is standing in the Batcave next to Dick and he's coming very close to fidgeting. He never fidgets. And yet, his fingers want to dance along the walls and his foot wants to start tapping. He keeps it all hidden under wraps.

Alfred is talking to Bruce, his hand holding a glass tray of cookies. Bruce looks tired; there are dark circles under his eyes and he has three days worth of stubble. Everything looks exactly the way it did before.

"Go," hisses Dick, shoving him forward.

"No, stop it," Jason hisses back.

"What's the matter? Scared?" Dick knows Jason's weak points and he knows that his pride tops the list. He also knows that he's just made it impossible for Jason to back down.

Throwing his brother a filthy look, Jason marches down the stairs, his cheeks flushed bright with anger. He stops abruptly and Bruce and Alfred both turn.

"Dick, stop making so much noise, we're bus-"

Bruce's voice cuts off as he turns to look at his son.

The tray slips from Alfred's hand and shatters on the ground. The sound seems to wake Bruce from his trance.

"Jason," he says quietly. "What are you doing here?"

But Jason doesn't answer. His attention has been caught by a memorial of himself in the room. There are two statues; one of himself and one of Bruce. Both are in uniform.

Jason walks closer, his feet taking him of their own accord. He presses his fingers to his statue, feeling the familiar fabric beneath his fingers. The uniform is new and starchy. He remembers how much he hated wearing uniforms when they were new like this, the fabric scratchy and rough. It took eons to get it comfortable and by the time it did, Bruce or Alfred would declare it unfit and have it replaced.

"When was this built?" His voice is quiet, low, and he can barely recognize it. He swallows hard then says louder, "Bruce. When did you build this?"

Bruce has no idea what is going on. One second he was trying to pinpoint the Catwoman's next target while Alfred force fed him cookies and the next his estranged son who had recently tried to kill him is in his den, asking about the memorial in his honor. It is all rather sudden.

"It was built after you were buried," Bruce's voice is so quiet it barely carries. He clears it noisily then asks, "Jason, what are you doing here?"

His son turns to him, green eyes bright. "A Good Soldier," he reads aloud. "Was I actually?"

"Yes. Of course."

"You always made me feel like Dick was better," Jason murmurs awkwardly. "You were always comparing me to him about everything. School, training, listening to Alfred. Dick was the good son. The good fighter. I was just his replacement."

"It was never like that," Bruce says forcefully. "You are both my sons. I care about you both, I love you both."

"Then why didn't you avenge me?" The words explode from Jason's lips in a torrent of anger. "If you loved me so much, why didn't you kill him? How could you _not_?"

The room was very still and very quiet. No one moved a muscle. Alfred didn't even blink.

"I could never kill him."

"Why? Just couldn't be bothered?"

"No! I wanted to kill him more than anything. It was all I thought about for days, weeks on end."

"Then why didn't you," demands Jason.

"That's not for me to do. I don't have the power to take away a life."

"Why not? _He's_ taken away plenty."

"And if I took away his, what would that make me? I'd be no better than he is."

"You sound like Dick."

"Dick always understood this better than you did."

"That's what I'm talking about! You're always comparing me to him!"

"Jason," Bruce pauses, searching for the right words. "You and I never agreed on some things. And maybe we never will. But I never loved you any less than Dick and I never cared about him any more than you. As for the Joker," he sighs, "Joker wants me to cross that line. He doesn't even care if I kill him because that would mean that he has won."

"So this is about some stupid vendetta between the two of you?"

"Of course not! This is about what I believe in and what I will and will not do. I won't kill someone. Not Joker, not anyone. It is something I won't do, no matter how badly I want to. It's not my call to say who dies and who lives. That's not up to me. I won't kill a person and you know it, Jason. It's wrong and it's something I swore not to do."

"Fine," Jason's voice is brittle. "I-Bye, Bruce."

He turns for the stairs when Bruce's voice pulls him back. "Why did you come here?"

_Damn. _"I don't know," answers Jason truthfully. "I thought maybe I could get some answers. Or, at least, understand your decision better. Maybe see Alfred or Barbara."

"Master Jason," Alfred cuts in smoothly. "I wish to speak to you in the dining room."

"What?"

Three voices in unison express their shock.

"Alfred, no," Bruce says quickly.

"This is what I know how to handle, Master Bruce," responds Alfred. "It is my duty as butler to correct such family disputes."

Dick looks like he wants to laugh and cry at the same time. He feels like both. "Let them go, Bruce," he voices aloud.

"Fine," he snaps. "I'll see you both later."

Jason is sitting at the dining table; his hands scrubbed clean and passed by Alfred's inspection. He has absolutely no idea what is going on.

"Eat," Alfred intones briskly, nudging a platter of sugar cookies at him.

Jason eats. They taste like sawdust to his dry throat but he doesn't say a word.

"Now, I've become aware of some discord among you three," informs Alfred. He sets about to chopping up carrots for the night's soup.

Jason remains silent.

"Firstly, I know you think your father favors Master Dick. Why is this?"

"I don't know, Alfred." Jason picks at a cookie's edge. "He's always comparing me to him about everything, even school. He makes me feel like I'm not good enough. Like Dick was better or something." He nibbles at the bottom of the cookie, barely tasting it.

"You know that isn't true, don't you?"

He doesn't say anything.

"Master Bruce may not have said anything to you," Alfred says heavily. "But you must know that he was always very proud of you. He even compared Master Richard to you a few times."

"Oh, Alfred, he did not."

"He did," Alfred says seriously. "He used to tell him how devoted you were, how ambitious you were, how proud of you he was. Master Richard was rather jealous, I would say."

"Alfred. He actually said that? You swear?"

"I swear or my name isn't Pennyworth, sir."

Jason sits, stunned by this revelation. Finally, he manages, "I never knew that."

"I gathered as much, sir," Alfred says dryly. "One didn't need to be part of the British Intelligence to figure that out. Now onto the next order of business; why he didn't avenge you or so you say."

Jason stiffens slightly, his brow furrowing.

"Master Bruce takes pride in what he teaches his sons. He would have hated for your death to the Joker to be the reason why he gave into the Joker."

"He saw it like that," Jason asks skeptically. "Giving in?"

"It was what the Joker would have wanted. And Master Bruce would have died before he gave him the satisfaction."

"How could that give Joker satisfaction if it meant Bruce would have killed him?"

"The Joker has always wanted your father to cross the line he had drawn for himself so long ago. It was what he has always dreamed of achieving, or so I imagine. He would consider dying at Master Bruce's hands a victory because it meant that he had finally managed to break him. Your father would never have allowed your death to be what would make the Joker victorious."

A light drizzle taps against the windows and Jason sighs, burying his head into his hands.

"Do you understand now, Master Jason?"

Alfred has moved onto polishing the silverware to be used for the night's dinner. Jason watches him wipe a knife with his rag, thinking. "Yeah. I mean, yes. Yes, I understand, Alfred. It's just…not what I would have done."

"Master Bruce," Alfred says sternly, "and you may never see things the same way. But what is important is that you remember that it is your similarities that keep you close."

"Alfred," Jason whispers, "I don't think we are that close."

Alfred stops wiping the forks and turns to look at Jason, really look at him. "Master Jason, your father will never close his heart to you. Not as long as he may live."

Then, smiling at him, he adds, "Finish your cookies now. They're still warm."

Jason bites into a cookie. It's delicious.

"By the way," Alfred adds as an afterthought, "I heard you say that you wanted to see Miss Barbara Gordon. She's out shopping this afternoon with a friend but she'll be back by five. Feel welcome to stay, Master Jason."

For the first time in a very long time, Jason gets the feeling that he's right where he's supposed to be.


	7. Epilogue: Healed

_Three months later._

"Jason, get your ass over here!"

The shout comes from the door of the living room, which had been transformed by Alfred into a party room. Jason turns, searching the room for the source while mentally ticking off suspects. Bruce doesn't swear, Alfred doesn't swear, Barbara doesn't swear _at him_, and that left…

"Dick, if you want to talk to talk to me,_ you're_ going to have to come over here."

With a dramatic sigh, his older brother makes his way throughout the buffet, pushing a balloon out of his way. "Alfred wants to take pictures," he explains, grinning at the exasperated look on Jason's face.

"I don't like pictures," Jason groans theatrically but he follows Dick's winding path between tables and guests.

"He says that this is, and I quote, 'a family reunion in the true sense of the word' and that we haven't taken any pictures in years," Dick replies.

Jason widens his eyes and responds, "And thank goodness for that. Can you imagine what would happen if he _had _taken photos of us? We would have _shelves _of scrapbooks of us running around in tights and saying things like, 'Gosh, Batman!'"

As Dick roars with laughter at the thought, Jason takes a moment to revel in the normalcy of the moment. A year ago he never would have dreamed of having this; a birthday party, for chrissake. When was the last time he had been to a party where everyone was sober?

He has gained so much in the last few months; it is still a shock to him. He can't believe it when he gets calls from his brother in the middle of the day, just to say hello. He couldn't have imagined how much nicer it was to sleep in an actual bed. And Alfred is so amazing to have around, not just because he cooked and did laundry.

"Jason, come on!"

With a start, he comes back to himself and follows his brother to where Alfred, Bruce and Barbara are huddled around a camera.

Barbara beckons him excitedly, her face glowing.

"Here, get one of me and Jason," she calls to Alfred who obediently takes the photo before Jason has time to rearrange his features into anything but startled compliance.

Bruce and Dick shake with laughter as they look the picture over, Jason scowling. "I wasn't ready," he complains, a reluctant grin tugging the corner of his mouth.

"Fine, take another," Dick orders. Smiling slightly, Alfred complies.

The flash goes off again and again.

They take at least five photos of Barbara with Jason who's still pouting petulantly. He finally caves and gives a reluctant smile for the camera and Barbara kisses him on the cheek. Dick manages to get a shot of Jason looking surprised and pleased with Barbara's lips still on his cheek.

Jason leaps at Dick, aiming for the camera, and a brief scuffle ensues, with Jason coming out on top, the camera clutched in his right fist. A gloating smirk graces his features and Barbara manages to get a picture of that too, his eyes bright with triumph then shock at the appearance of a second camera.

Bruce takes a picture of the three of them together, laughing like maniacs and Jason mussing Dick's hair in time for the third picture of them. Dick's look of outrage and Jason's delighted grin at his brother's reaction dominate the picture, Barbara in the background, smiling.

After much persuasion, Alfred finally permits them to take a few photos of him. Barbara takes one of him and Bruce together, then Jason takes one of all of them together and finally, they set the timer and take at least five of all of them.

Jason takes three photos of Barbara and Dick, taking pleasure in capturing Dick's expression as Barbara kisses him too. He also takes a photo of Dick and Bruce together, both of them trying desperately to keep a straight face and neither of them succeeding.

Barbara bullies Dick and Jason to take a few photos together, the two of them harassing the other the whole way through. First Jason spills a drink on Dick's shirt, which he swears is an accident and Barbara, giggling with laughter, captures on film. Then Dick ties Jason's shoelaces together while he's being distracted by Bruce and Alfred, resulting with Jason nearly tripping into a bowl of iced punch which is also miraculously photographed by a triumphant Bruce and finally ending in Jason pulling his shoes off altogether and lobbing them at Dick who is pulled away from flirting with Barbara by the heavy dress shoes nabbing him in the back.

Jason, of course, makes it all worthwhile by catching it on tape. Even better than pictures.

By the end of it, they're all exhausted and the guests have gone home, leaving them to clean up.

In a fit of relaxation, Bruce declares that they needn't worry and calls a cleaning service at which Alfred protests, insisting that he clean up the wreck. Bruce, of course, refuses and gives him the rest of the week off but they all know that Alfred will serve them raw meat before actually taking off a week.

Finally, exhausted, Barbara gathers them around the sofa to open her presents which were collected by Alfred and deposited at the coffee table.

First, she opens Bruce's which is a new pair of black gloves for her uniform and Alfred's which is a gift certificate for a store specializing in gym equipment. She thanks them both.

She gets to Dick's which is a collection of pictures of her over the years that she hadn't realized had been taken. Most of them are with her in uniform and in the middle of a fight though a few of them show her before or after a battle. All are complete with a date on the back and a caption.

Needless to say, Barbara is pleased. Very, very pleased.

Last is Jason's, which makes him nervous. He didn't know what to get her and he isn't sure this will be something she'll like.

It's a pair of eskrima fighting sticks.

And she likes them.

It's about a year after Barbara's party.

It won't go back to being the way it used to be. He won't go back to being Robin.

While nothing will ever be the same, Jason's happy. And so is everyone who matters.

He has a family. He has friends. After being harassed about it by Bruce, he finally enrolled in a university. He was never a stellar student but he's better now than he was before and he even has a professor he complains about less than the others when he gets home.

Every now and then, Jason puts on the suit as Red Hood and goes out to do his thing. It isn't the way it used to be but it suits him. He visits his brother in Blüdhaven and he's living with the rest of his family in the manor so he sees them all every day.

It isn't just good enough. It's perfect.

** Author note: Thank you if you stuck by me this long. Special thanks if you reviewed (hint: you can leave a review now and have my special gratitude.) Hopefully, you liked this. If you did, well, you're in luck because I'm seriously considering doing several more following after this. If I do decide to go that route, it will include Tim, Stephanie, Cassandra...the works. A couple will include Damian but a few won't. I'm sorry, I love the little guy too, but it would be too complicated. This follows my own universe where I pretend what ever I'm writing is real because you have no idea how much I wish this story had actually happened. This is my universe-**

**Tim is Robin (if Damian is in the story, Tim is Red Robin and Damian is Robin)**

**Dick is Nightwing (he moved into the manor after Blüdhaven was blown up) **

**Jason is Red Hood **

**Stephanie is Batgirl**

**Cassandra is Batwoman**

**Barbara a.k.a. Babs is Oracle (if I decide to make Babs Batgirl, Stephanie will be Spoiler)**

**Bruce is Batman**

**There is no Katherine Kane.**

**If I decide to go through with this, I will include Selina. A lot. I mean, A LOT.**

**Also, ages will vary slightly, depending on the story.**

**So, see you all later!**

**P**.**S. I know there are a few Nightwing fans who say it's escrima sticks. I looked it up; you can spell it both ways. Thank you.**


End file.
